Wrecking Ball Boys
by Horribibble
Summary: At seventeen years old, the Jones-Williams brothers were probably too old for their bunk beds. Their parents had done their best to break it to them, but preemptive retribution had come swiftly, dressed in drag. ..Drabble Series..
1. The JonesWilliams Effect

**Title **: Wrecking Ball Boys

**Fandom **: Hetalia

**Rating** : M, for language. Possible naughtiness to come.

**Author's** **Notes** : Rediscovered my love for the 'Josie and the Pussycats' soundtrack, and this little bundle of joy came out. This is a recreational deal, so don't expect constant updates, or a sensible plot line.

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><p>-<br>The Jones-Williams Effect  
>-<p>

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><p><em>-<br>And then he falls asleep on the living room couch,  
>with his sunglasses on and his tongue hanging out.<em>

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><p>At seventeen years old, the Jones-Williams brothers were <em>probably <em>too old for their bunk beds. Their parents had done their best to break it to them, but preemptive retribution had come swiftly, dressed in drag.

Nothing about their boys was what anyone would call 'normal', but after two chapters of Doctor Drew's latest parenting book, Liberty Jones felt like punching the man in the face. If asked for a formal statement, she would insist that her boys were 'perfectly fucking fine', and then she would offer you a cookie.

All things considered, that _might _have been where the boys had gotten it from, whatever _'It' _was. As a whole, the Jones-Williams effect was difficult to describe.

Matthew had a strange and sometimes disturbing addiction to trashy teeny-bopper quiz magazines. Nathan had nearly started foaming at the mouth when he saw the 'Which Jo Bro is Right for You?' page open with messy circles surrounding those dread A B C D's. The doodled horns and other cartoonish additions were the only reason he hadn't tripped right into cardiac arrest. He was fine with 'gay'. He was fairly certain he could parent for 'gay', but he was lost on 'straight in the wrong body'.

Fortunately, that was about as effeminate as Matt got, outside of stealing their mother's nail polish to screw around with Alfred's nails when they were bored.

Seventeen years old, and their language-raping, 'well-adjusted' Al sported a manicure reading 'Fuck Babies'. Nathan had sighed, and made that meaningful look until his wife rolled her eyes and just fucking _asked_.

The answer, of course, was a listless shrug of Matt's shoulders and a soft, "It fit."

A gentle soul, he was, until hockey season. Around hockey season, Nathan and Matthew took the living room, and Alfred and Liberty made a point of staying _away, _usually experimenting in the kitchen—fuck yes, Green Eggs and Cake—or constructing water balloon catapults.

Hockey season was _bonding _season in their house.

That didn't mean there weren't other sports.

Alfred, under any other circumstances, would probably have been your run-of-the-mill charismatic sports star. He was still charismatic, but he had, in addition to his mother's mouth, a habit for making up words that probably shouldn't have existed.

And dancing and singing in public.

Really, the sight of a red-blooded American jock, head-bobbing and hip-swishing, would have been something worthy of some teasing. Adding a full-volume, appropriately-catty rendition of 'Closet Bitch' would have gotten him killed, if he were anyone else.

But Alfred was Alfred, the same way Mattie was Mattie.

For some reason, it worked.

And nobody bled.

Thus, the Jones-Williams effect.

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><p><strong>-<br>A/N: **I'd like to try 'answering questions' about their daily lives, to an extent. For example, 'How the hell do these people work out shared bathrooms?' Feel free to inquire. I'll see what pops out. 'Til next time. ONWARD!

PS: If you're reading this in italics, it's not my fault. Eu juro. D:


	2. Birthdays

**Title **: Wrecking Ball Boys

**Fandom **: Hetalia

**Rating** : M, for language. Possible naughtiness to come.

**Prompt: "**How do they celebrate their birthdays?" - Blurry19

**Author's** **Notes** : The song referenced in this chapter is 'Living in America' by Dom. **Blurry**, I just want you to know that I love you. I cuddle you in my mind for all of the little reviews you tuck into my stories. XD **FanfictionLover**, for now I'll be alternating between you and Blurry, unless I get more questions to add to the rotation. I'll be getting to one of your questions, next. x3

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><p>-x<p>

'Birthdays'

x-

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><p><em>-x<br>_

_Fun loving creatures living fast eating gritty.  
>Babes on the beaches, baby G's in the city.<br>American mummies teach the world to be pretty._

_x-  
><em>

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><p>x<p>

Long has the question been asked throughout the whole of parent-kind: How does one plan a 'joint birthday party' without inciting floods of saltwater the likes of which mankind has not seen since Noah took up sailing.

Really, there has never been a solid answer. To each household, its own tentative and guilt-ridden solution. At the beginning of her Motherhood, Liberty had tried to figure out a decent solution by joining (and polling) her local women's book club.

The resulting discussion had gone something like this:

Skipper: Well, _sweetheart honey dear_, if you weren't such a vulgar and uneducated creature, I am ever so certain that you wouldn't be having this problem.

Liberty: I'm sorry, _mother I was not aware I had_, have we met before?

Midge: She does have a point, _woman whose name is unusual and therefore poor in comparison to my own all-American-all-the-time appellation_, anyone who has read a single parenting book can tell you that unifying your household is a key skill to any well-educated mother?

Liberty: There's a school for this shit?

Skipper, Midge, Stacey, Christie, and Teresa: _Le Gasp_.

Barbie: _Please_, Liberty dear, I understand that this issue is extremely vital to the development of your children (and you were right to come to us), but do try to comport yourself.

Skipper, Midge, Stacey, Christie, and Teresa: _The Messiah hath spoken. Assorted bird-like chirping and mmmhm-ing noises._

Liberty: (Realizing that the joke she made to Nathan and the boys earlier about going to Stepford was horribly, _horribly _accurate.) ...They're not even old enough to _complain_...I was just _wondering_...

Stacey: That's right. Of course, it's our duty as worldly women to help you! (Extra worldly points for being British.)

Barbie: Absolutely, Stace.

Stacey: (Snootily-hidden praisegasm.)

Barbie: Why, I remember all the work that went into planning little Kelly's first birthday. A good personal assistant can _never _be undervalued. It makes all of the work so much more bearable, you know?

Liberty: You have a personal assistant?

Barbie: _Had_, dear. It's just the nanny, now. Didn't I tell you? The woman is a _dream_. Much better than the last one. I swear, the woman almost had her learning... (Dramatic whisper) _Spanish!_

Skipper, Midge, Stacey, and Teresa: _SCANDALSHOCKHORROR!_

Christie: (Token black friend for racial diversity. Is not touching that level of closet-racism with a ten-foot pole.)

Barbie: This one's Russian.

Skipper, Midge, Stacey, and Teresa: _HORRORCONCERNSAYITISN'TSO!_

Barbie: Oh, don't worry. She's too ugly for Ken, and too old for the kids to call her mom.

Liberty: (Throwing up in her mouth, which is covered by a carefully-selected decorative tea napkin.) ...I'm supposed to hire a personal assistant to help me plan a birthday that my children are never going to remember?

Barbie: The _neighborhood _will! Have you not been paying attention?

Liberty: Of course I have. Hire 'lesser races', outsource excrement-machines until they're pageant-sized. I've got it all written on my Martha Stewart memo pad.

Teresa: (For once not feeling like she's under the microscope because she's been sleeping with Ken and she's pretty certain everybody knows except Barbie and have these bitches told?) They have those?

Barbie: I think you need to leave now.

x

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><p>x<p>

That year, the Jones-Williams family celebrated the birth of their sons by cuddling up on the couch with their new stuffed toys—an alien and a polar bear, respectively—and watching whatever the boys squealed loudest for.

Once the kids were well-contented and tucked into bed, their parents, with great solemnity, jotted a note into the baby book:

_Apply for cultural enrichment lessons._

_Warn about trophy wives._

_x  
><em>

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><p>x<p>

It had been an excellent idea.

Once the kids were old enough to understand and communicate in what passed for proper English, the entire household began spending a significant amount of time at the community center.

Which was why, for a good number of years, Alfred and Matthew didn't really have birthday parties so much as they had days on which the multilingual mob brought presents, and their parents came along with massive trays of favorite foods. Recipes were shared from family to family, and not once did anyone mention a PA.

x

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><p>x<p>

In recent years, birthday celebrations depended mostly on Alfred and Matthew—it was up to them what they wanted to do. It was a fortunate thing for their parents that it was generally much more practical than what the Stepford Socialites seemed to plan for their neatly-pressed polo children.

Now that most of them had permits and licenses, said polo children spent half of their commute worrying about water balloons and stale bits of pancake flying from their mobile forts as the caravan rolled down to the beach, the park, or wherever else they'd decided to celebrate before returning to the house.

It was hard to tell, sometimes, if it was actually their birthday, or just another 'adventure'.

On any given day, there could be fireworks and music, cultural dances and ethnic cursing.

Regardless, things tended to explode.

It was just a matter of how lenient the fire department decided to be.

x

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><p>x<strong><br>**

**A/N: **TL;DR. XD I hope you enjoyed this chapter. To be honest, I wasn't certain how to handle answering this question. No solid concept occurred to me, but for this little instance, I thought that it would suit them better to spend the time with people they cared about instead of turning everything into a partyscape from wealth hell.

**So to answer your question: **The short answer would be 'However the hell they want'. Generally, their birthday takes up two days of celebration—one day for friends, the other for family. I'm not going to nail down the day, but I will tell you that _around _their birth, there was the celebration of Independence Day. (Which may be why those JW boys can handle such loud noises.

I'm really glad that you two sent in such interesting questions. I'll do my best to answer them well. :)


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